


To look for America

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:58:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3275834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Los Angeles and Sherlock Holmes - the combination bore the makings of a nightmare. A multi chapter trek for Holmes and Watson.  Just for fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Flight

Los Angeles and Sherlock Holmes - the combination bore the makings of a nightmare. 

He was subpoenaed in a federal case being tried in the Los Angeles District Court and the judge would not allow testimony via telephone. His presence was required. They estimated he need only spend at most two days in California. The battery of defense attorneys was footing the bill for travel and accommodations. Sherlock summoned his courage and asked Watson to join him. He couched his invitation in terms of doing her a favor, allowing her to come with him and enjoy a brief spell of California sun, a respite from the NYC winter. They both knew a lie when they heard one. Sherlock needed her stability; her presence provided a shield from what he envisioned to be an environment overrun with cacophonous cars, tanned bodies carrying mouths with overly white teeth yammering at him. Joan acquiesced. She went with him to hold his hand through the ordeal; plus, she could use a change of scenery. A little sunshine and some blue skies, even if only for two days, sounded appealing. 

The trip did not start well. The flight from New York to L.A. was a particularly gruesome one for Holmes. Never a good flyer even when conditions were perfect, this flight pushed him to his limits. In order to control his exposure to annoying stimuli, he took the window seat and Joan took the middle. Turbulence, belligerent passengers, the incessant wails of small children, and tired and sarcastic stewards proved an irritant for both Joan and Sherlock. To top it all off, the young twenty-something blonde sitting next to Joan, took a shine to Sherlock, flirting with him shamelessly and trying to make idle chit-chat. The woman dismissed Joan as if there was no possibility that she and Sherlock were a couple and proceeded to talk around her as if she wasn't there. Joan quickly grew weary of the blonde, as did Sherlock. 

"Oh you're British. There is nothing sexier than a British accent." She giggled and squinched her nose at him as she leaned across Joan to talk to him. 

Sherlock glared at her and turned back to the window. Watson turned her attention back to her book. This did not stop Britttany. Her self-absorption blinded her to his obvious lack of interest in her conversation.

She leaned across again, "I once had a small part in movie where I needed to use an Australian accent - I did quite well if I do say so myself. British and Australian accents are quite similar and ...." Brittany proceeded with her inane comparison of the two accents. 

Sherlock squirmed in his seat, squinted at the woman with disdain and said nothing. 

"You have beautiful eyes. Has anyone ever told you that? You would be quite a heartthrob if you took to acting...."

Joan sighed loudly and put her book down. She turned to Sherlock. "Are you going to do something about her or are you enjoying the vapid blonde's drooling attentions?"

The blonde stopped prattling and looked at Joan. "Hey, I think that's kind of rude." She wasn't sure what vapid meant but the tone made her think it wasn't nice. "I wasn't talking to you. Why don't you stick your nose back in that book. Are you going to let her talk to me like that?" Brittany always assumed that men would take her side in any argument. 

Sherlock had been maintaining an air of stoic "niceness" for the sake of Watson but the blonde's comments to his partner gave him that small last push that sent him over the edge. 

"Excuse me, Watson." He leaned forward across Watson to talk to the girl. 

Joan sat back, with a small look of satisfaction, knowing what was about to happen. "Be my guest."

"You see this woman," he motioned to Watson, "you are not worthy to sit next to her let alone speak to her in that fashion. You have been nothing but disrespectful to her since the beginning of this flight. She is infinitely more poised, intelligent and beautiful than you can ever hope to be." His tone was quiet and intense. "This is my partner, my friend, my better half, if you will; I would sit in silence next to her for an eternity rather than listen to two more seconds of your bleating. If you wish sex, I suggest you go chat up the meaty fellow in the aisle seat two rows up. I am not interested in you in any manner. The only thing I wish from you is an apology to Watson and if you are incapable of doing that, I suggest you shut the fuck up." He raised his eyebrows, cocked his head and sat back.

Brittany batted her eyes and sat with her mouth open, "I never .. Gah .. Some people ..." She flipped her hair, plopped back into her seat and picked up her earbuds, while looking up the aisle a little way.

Joan looked at Sherlock with a sly smile which he reciprocated. She leaned her shoulder into his in thanks.

The plane shook with a sudden bump of turbulence. Sherlock grabbed at the arm rest and leaned a little closer to Watson.


	2. Chapter 2

Brittany moved to another seat, two rows up. Unfortunately, turbulence took her place and accompanied them the rest of the way to California. The plane eventually bumped and bounced its way onto the runway at LAX and came to a screeching, bone-rattling stop. A slightly queasy Joan exhaled and opened her eyes. Sherlock, in an effort to maintain control of his overburdened nervous system, had put himself into a trance - eyes wide open but completely shutdown. Joan cautiously touched his forearm with one finger and jolted Sherlock back into consciousness. He looked at her wide-eyed, relief tinged with gratitude flitted across his face before the Holmes' mask of practicality fell back in place. 

"Let's get off this godforsaken contraption," he muttered, stretching the muscles of his neck and shoulders.

"My stomach and I are way ahead of you." Joan stood in the aisle and waited as he pulled down their carry-ons from the overhead compartment. They made their way to ground transport and out into the loud tangle of taxis, busses and cars. 

 

The magnetic lock thunked to announce its opening. Upon stepping through the doorway, Sherlock and Joan's more muted sensibilities were assaulted by a hotel room that screamed California at them. Decorated in oranges and reds, the wall behind their beds was adorned with large poppy prints and the floor-to-ceiling windows let in and focused every drop of lemony afternoon sunshine onto the white carpeting. Their response to the stimuli was automatic and cooperative. 

Joan strolled over to the windows and shut the red floral printed drapes, sending the room into a more tolerable shade of bright. Sherlock turned off the nightstand lights. She pulled off the bedspread from her bed and he his. She chose the bed by the windows, he took the bed closest to the door. Sherlock poured each of them a glass of water. Without discussion or delay, shoes were kicked off and each partner lay alone in each bed in exquisite silence. After an ordeal such as that flight had been, the need to recharge with minimal stimulation was a respected and shared trait. 

His phone chirped announcing a text. Joan opened and cast an irritated eye in his direction.

"Sorry. They will have a car here at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow to take us down to the court building."

"Us?"

"You'd rather not come?" Sherlock tried to not sound disappointed. 

"As much as I enjoy your courtroom performances, I thought I'd take the opportunity to relax, maybe sit out by the pool." Joan was sincere. Sherlock shone in a witness box. He kept his audience on the edge of their seats with details of his investigation and the deductive process. But after weeks of harsh winter weather, the lure of warm blue skies was far more enticing. 

"Ah, of course." Sherlock closed his eyes. 

"We can do something when you get back. Disneyland perhaps?"

It was Sherlock's turn to cast an irritated glance in her direction. "No."

The sun was low on the horizon by the time Joan woke up. Sherlock had his papers spread over his bed. What was left of the day was then spent preparing for Sherlock's testimony. Eventually, the oddity of a warm evening drew them outside to dine and they passed the evening in animated yet amiable discourse; as well as they knew each other, there always seemed something new to share and argue over.

The car picked him up at 8:00 a.m. sharp. Joan slept in until well after 10:00 and endured the hardship of having to self-procure breakfast. She laughed at herself; he spoiled her in certain respects, and to her surprise, she let him. In other respects, he pushed her to the edge of insanity. 

Around noon, Joan found herself lounging by the pool in a one piece white swimsuit, large sunglasses in place and a cold lemonade close at hand. She put down her book, laid back and let the warmth of the sun seep into her winter-weary body. 

She sensed the blocking of the sunshine by a shadow cast over her. This guy again she thought. She'd already fended off his advances earlier in the morning. She started talking without opening her eyes, "I told you I'm not interested. My husband should be here any minute."

"Really? I leave you alone for four hours and you get married?"

Joan opened her eyes. Sunshine cut out the silhouette of a sharp suited Sherlock, hands in pockets, peering down on her. She smiled and he sat down in the lounge chair beside her. 

"How'd it go?"

"Spectacularly, of course. Won't know officially for a few weeks, but I daresay my testimony turned the case around for them."

Joan nodded. What others might consider lack of modesty, she understood as a need to express factual information accurately, covered by a thin layer of insecurity. Sherlock was never really sure what others thought of him. 

"Good. You can relax for a bit then." She knew full well he wouldn't. "You are kind out of out of place in the suit and tie though."

Sherlock gave her a look, stood up over her, proceeded to take off his jacket and hand it to her. He undid his tie and took it off, again handing it to a quickly embarrassing Joan. He pulled his shirt out from his pants and began unbuttoning. 

"Sherlock! What are you doing?" She was worried just how far his undressing would go. Others were beginning to stare. 

"I am making myself more comfortable, fitting in as it were." He looked at her blankly so that she was not sure of his intent. Sherlock took off his shirt and threw it on his chair. She held her breath, afraid the pants would go next. But instead he flexed a bit and stretched much to the admiration of the females sitting around the pool. He still stood over her. 

"Which cretin was it that harassed you earlier?" He looked around and laid his eyes on the flabby farmer-tanned man across from them. "Ah! I see." Sherlock took off his sunglasses and stared at him until the man realized he was being stared at and met his gaze.

"Don't." Watson said no more and Sherlock stood still glaring at the man much like a well trained guard dog. "I am more than able to protect myself and only used the husband threat as a short cut. Creeps like that won't back down unless they think you're someone else's property."

Sherlock winced at the thought of Watson being considered property. He still stood facing the man, twitching muscles and staring. His display had the two fold effect of intimidating Watson's creep and thrilling the twenty-something's behind them.

"Sit." Joan commanded. He turned and saw the look in her eye and after giving the cretin one more lethal glare, sat.

Men, Joan thought and shook her head. Small crisis averted, Joan handed Sherlock the sunblock.

He lay back on the lounge chair and put his sunglasses back on. "Watson, I have a proposition for you."

She worried when he started conversations with those words. No telling what direction he was going. 

Sherlock squirmed uncomfortably trying to find a way to say what he wanted without appearing foolish and lessening her opinion of him. Staring straight ahead, he spoke. "I was thinking, since both our schedules are clear for the next week or so and since I've never had an opportunity to really travel across this great land of yours, that perhaps we might rent a car and drive back to New York." The last words were drawn out a little as he turned his head to assess her reaction to his request. 

Joan took a beat and a slow smile spread across her face. "That really was a hellacious flight wasn't it?"

Sherlock didn't even bother to pretend. She knew him well enough. He shook his head yes and waited for her answer.

Joan didn't relish the thought of getting back on board another flight tomorrow. But the thought of spending a week in a car with Sherlock had its downsides as well. She mulled it over as he sat and waited. 

He read her thoughts. "We can always return the vehicle and get a return flight along the way if the... uh, proximity becomes too unbearable." 

"True. And I've always wanted to see the Grand Canyon." She thought some more.

"The Badlands? Mt. Rushmore? The worlds largest ball of twine?" He added seductively.

"Stop while your ahead. ..... Okay. Let's do it!" 

Sherlock took her drink and sipped a good long relieved drink. He handed the lemonade to her and gave the flabby creep another intimidating stare.


End file.
